


Keeping Warm

by celebros



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Coulson beats himself up for everything, Drunken Shenanigans, Hunter has a thing about loyalty, Hunter won't have any of that, M/M, Mexico, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebros/pseuds/celebros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Coulson had taken Hunter up on the suggestion to run away to Mexico together. Because let's be honest, that's totally what he was suggesting.</p><p>(Written after "Afterlife", but apparently this is less AU than I thought... #winning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Written really, really fast and totally unedited, because I'm not allowed to take time away from writing my longfics but something about Hunter and his two glasses gave me mad plot bunnies. (I've never shipped them before, but apparently I do a little now.)

Hunter has a thing.

He has an issue with trust. Namely, ever since he was a kid he sort of chooses one person at a time and gives it all to them. Not the healthiest way to live, but that's just sort of how he's wired. So when Bob walks into the room on that carrier, her eyes all flat on him for a second and then shifting away and pretending she doesn't feel guilty, it's like this anchor loosens and falls from her and lands on Coulson, wherever the fuck he may be at the moment. And now it belongs to him, that trust. It's his, and it's not that he doesn't deserve it, and hell, he'd actually straight-up asked for it, but there's something about it. Something a little weird. But then, Coulson's a little weird, so that's all right then.

Hunter has a thing about being alone. He finds Coulson pretty quick, and it's like whatever was pressing down on his ribcage is gone now, and once he can breathe he can drink. Drinking's good.

Hunter has a thing about his flask. It's a joke he tells regularly, so he rolls it out to Coulson the way he rolls it out every time and Coulson just sort of raises a brow. So Hunter quickly extends the joke one further, absolving the boss of his responsibility to pay for that shot with a good fuck. And that's good, because it was automatic. It's not like he was actually propositioning.

Hunter has a thing about being trusted. Namely, he knows that no one trusts him, and he's sort of okay with that but then sometimes not really. And then one night when they've been in Mexico for nine days and they haven't heard shit and can't sleep, Coulson starts drinking. And when he's been drinking for three hours he's knocking things over and yelling a little and he lets Hunter grab him, stop him, still him. And he says, "I don't fucking like this," and Hunter says, "I know, boss," and then Coulson is crying a little and he says, "I think you can call me Phil right now," and he knows that it's happened. The trust is both ways. He'd thought he'd had this before, sometimes, with a kid he'd grown up with once and with Bob twice, but it always turns out he's wrong. Which is what happens when you for some fucking reason decide that you trust one person unconditionally. They let you down. No one stands upright under that kind of pressure.

Coulson wobbles a little, as if he knows, and Hunter sets him down on the bed even though it's his turn for the couch, because he's going to be miserable enough in the morning without a crick in his neck.

Hunter has a thing about sex. He likes it. He's pretty sure almost everybody has that thing. Coulson knows that, and Coulson likes his people happy, so one night they go out on the town together and Hunter gets smashed on the boss's dime, not that anything costs much in this part of the country, and he finds a pretty woman and she takes his hand but once she realizes how wasted he is she gets lost. Real nice.

Coulson puts Hunter's arm around his own shoulders and half-carries him home, and when Hunter wakes up in the middle of the night and Coulson is pacing the other side of the safe house, his fingers intertwined and hands behind his head and those lines in his forehead, he's sober enough to get out of bed and walk over. Coulson smiles at him, and says, "Hey there," something of his anxiety fading in his indulgence, and Hunter says, "You weren't even looking for anyone tonight, were you? That was all for me." And Coulson says, "I don't really need anything right now," and so Hunter's got to call bullshit on that.

At first when he lurches forward, Coulson seems to think he's fallen, because his hands come up to Hunter's shoulders as if to support him and he says, "Hey there," again in that soft, somehow-unpatronizing voice, and by the time he realizes what's happening Hunter already has the boss's jeans unbuttoned.

"Whoa," he says, but he was lying and Hunter is persuasive and eventually he gets the boss literally up against the wall and then he sucks him off because that's what you do when you trust somebody and you're pretty sure that person also trusts you. He's not as gentle about it as he might usually be—it's been a long time since he sucked cock—but nobody seems to be objecting. When it's done Coulson is breathing hard and Hunter's sort of holding him upright with one hand on his shoulder and one on his bare hip, and when he's pretty sure Coulson's not going to fall over he pulls the boss's boxers back up and pats him on the shoulder, as if to say, _There._

Then he drags the boss by the hand, drags him back to the bed, which is plenty big enough for two and they've been being ridiculous about that, and Coulson says, "Did you change your mind about making an exception?" and Hunter says, "Shut up," and pushes him down to sit on the other side of the mattress but doesn't touch him again for the rest of the night.

When he wakes up, it's morning but it's still early because the house isn't sweltering yet, and Coulson's pacing again. "Don't you fucking sleep?" Hunter asks, and Coulson gives him a look made of steel and sorrow and Hunter groans and flops back against the bed.

Hunter has a thing for Coulson, but Coulson has a thing about power.

"Fuck," Hunter says, and the boss says, "Yeah," his voice tight, and then, "We have to go back. They're right about me," and Hunter says, "The hell with that." They're quiet for a minute, and Coulson stops pacing, and Hunter says, "We've got to keep working. We can do it, we can find them," and Coulson says, "That's really not the point."

Hunter can see where this is going, but he says, "It probably should be."

"I'm sorry," Coulson says, and he really is, which hurts a little.

"Hello?" Hunter says, sitting up again. "If one of us should be sorry, it's me."

"I'm your boss. I'm the one who dragged you out here. I'm the one who got you drunk. It was my responsibility."

"Phil," Hunter says, "I can call you Phil right now, right?" Coulson waves a hand. "Last night I pushed you against a wall and took off your clothes and put your cock in my mouth. I didn't do that by mistake. If you're regretting that, I really think I'm the one who should be sorry." And he gets up and goes over to where the boss is standing sort of helpless and puts a hand on his shoulder, wraps his fingers down his back and neck as if he's going to give him a bit of a massage, and waits until Coulson can meet his eyes. "We're not going back. You're not giving up because I can't keep my hands to myself. And neither of us is sleeping on that couch ever again."

"Okay," Coulson says after a minute. "I'm a little confused about the rest of it, but that much I can understand." And they don't go back, and Hunter doesn't drink for a week solid, and at night they sleep with their backs to one another, or at least the boss rests that way and Hunter sleeps. He's never sure if the boss sleeps.

Leo Fitz shows up when they've been in the safe house for almost three weeks. He's got the little black cube. Coulson takes it into the bathroom and there's blue light under the door and he comes back out and says, "That's the one," and claps Fitz on the shoulder and smiles, and Hunter's stomach lurches unpleasantly. He hadn't realized how little Coulson had been smiling.

Coulson trusts Fitz, so Hunter finds that he does sort of vicariously. It's a nice feeling. The part of it that's not nice is that Fitz's voice is rough and he's tanned and a little hollow. He's had a rough time of it getting to them, staying so far underground even Coulson doesn't recognize all the names he gives, and tonight it's Fitz's turn to sleep in a bed.

Hunter volunteers for the couch, which is sort of penance anyway. He takes a couple shots. And he wakes up at two with the heavy weight of a second person settling down next to him. The couch is narrow, way too narrow for two people, but Coulson lies on his side so that they're facing each other, sardined in place, and puts an arm around Hunter's waist to secure himself, and somehow they both sleep.

When they wake up in the morning, they wake up together, because the slightest shift of one body moves the other. Their eyes meet, their faces inches from each other, and Fitz is snoring across the room, and Phil says quietly, "I kind of have a thing about keeping you warm."

So that's okay, then.


End file.
